


4.6 cm

by kronotriga



Series: build me up [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Anal Fingering, Asexuality Spectrum, F/M, First Time, Getting Together, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Olympics, Rule 63, Strangers to Lovers, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronotriga/pseuds/kronotriga
Summary: Atsumu’s fingers involuntarily twitch as he types ‘strap on harness’ in the search bar of a favorite sex toy site while he waits, wondering what Kiyoomi has in store for him. He has his own toys he likes and is used to but he’s never seriously thought about the harness part before, about what a hypothetical partner might wear. Then Kiyoomi emerges from the bathroom and he doesn’t have to wonder anymore, phone slipping from his hand to be lost in the sheets.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: build me up [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121096
Comments: 22
Kudos: 129





	4.6 cm

**Author's Note:**

> I love so many iterations of skts in all their banter glory! this particular flavor was inspired by [this drawing](https://twitter.com/popplioikawa/status/1345603430727860224) by phee and the subsequent discussion that atsumu would thoroughly enjoy getting pegged by kiyoomi. In this au they start as strangers who know of each other but don’t meet until the men’s & women’s national teams conveniently practice in close quarters in the lead up to the tokyo olympics. (kiyoomi hasn’t taken amanai kanoka’s place, they both share the position of outside hitter on the women’s team.) the timeline is intentionally vague but I imagine it’s likely olympic training begins the year before the games are set to take place so this fic is loosely set in 2019, pre global pandemic
> 
> as featured in this fic both atsumu and kiyoomi are cis; atsumu is bisexual and kiyoomi is a sex-favorable asexual who becomes very interested in knocking atsumu down a peg or two ;) I’ve never written smut before but the inspiration demanded it and I plan to write a sequel in kiyoomi’s pov if I can keep up the momentum (as well as finally work on a long-planned lesbian skts series). fun fact: the page length of this fic’s google doc rivals my master’s thesis and I’m not sure how I feel about that..

In his mind Atsumu is well aware that Sakusa Kiyoomi, outside hitter on the national women’s team, is quite tall. 192.3 cm tall, in fact, not that Atsumu had memorized her stats or is jealous of the few centimeters she has on him. Sue him for being impressed by a fellow professional athlete, especially now that both national teams are practicing in adjoining gyms at the National Training Center in Tokyo. Atsumu always reads up on players who catch his eye with unique playstyles, and Sakusa’s flexible wrists that put devastating spins on her spikes are nothing short of awe-inducing. And if he’s followed her career for nearly a decade since they both started gaining recognition in the high school circuit no one but his twin has to know that.

All his theoretical knowledge proves to be absolutely meaningless when Atsumu stands next to Sakusa for the first time and feels as if he is being towered over despite the few centimeters’ difference. Sakusa Kiyoomi’s presence may not exactly scream larger than life, as some of the flashier players around him perhaps, but her very height and self-assuredness on the court draw the attention Atsumu generally solely reserves for volleyball itself. It might be the long curls too, he’s not gonna lie.

When the national volleyball association throws a gala dinner to officially welcome the athletes to Tokyo Atsumu catches Sakusa standing just paces away in his peripheral vision as he’s reaching for a flute of champagne. His eyes first catch on the pearlescent sheen of the grey pantsuit then shift up, up, past a long pale neck, a downturned mouth, and brows scrunched in a frown over dark eyes. And Atsumu finally sees those two symmetrical moles in person for the first time, pulled down by the furrow of Sakusa’s brow. He blinks.

“Miya.” Oh, she knows his name. “I hope you’re not going to get wasted.” Wait a minute, this is his first _and_ last drink of the night.

“Sakusa-senshu,” he smiles with his canines. “I didn’t take you to be the type to care so much about my well-being.”

She definitely seems to be looking down her nose at him. “I don’t. I just don’t want to talk to someone if they can’t keep up with the conversation because they’re too drunk.”

That lifts some of the annoyance Atsumu had started to feel settling in his jaw as it unlocks in shock. “You want to talk to _me_?” His sixteen-year-old self could never have imagined meeting his celebrity crush this way.

“Do you see anyone else around?” Sakusa shrugs but her eyes don’t leave his bewildered ones. There are other athletes milling around, though none particularly close to this corner of the event hall.

“Your match against the Tachibana Red Falcons,” she continues. Three weeks ago Atsumu had scored the final point to win the game for the Black Jackals before Olympic training began. “That last service ace was impressive.” _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ looks like she’s pouting slightly but she also just complimented him, leaving Atsumu struggling to wrap his head around the most bizarre conversation of his life. But he is also a firm believer in reciprocity. 

“You certainly land your fair share of service aces yourself,” he compliments in return, because she does. Sakusa is also an excellent serve receiver and no slouch at setting herself, and Atsumu now has the pleasure of seeing a blush spread across such an accomplished athlete’s face. 

Before he can wonder too deeply about how far down the red might go she shifts to cross her arms and it’s too ingrained in Atsumu to square up for confrontation to not subconsciously mimic her. 

“Next week,” Sakusa practically sneers, “let’s count just how many we each make in practice. Loser buys dinner.”

Atsumu stares open-mouthed as Sakusa stalks off once her challenge is issued, eyes drawn to the nape of her neck where her curls are pinned up, and burns. 

* * *

When Atsumu looks up from chugging water after practice on Monday he nearly chokes at the sight of Sakusa suddenly standing before him. Her glare deepens as he coughs into an elbow to clear his lungs, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her national jacket. 

“Well, Miya, how many?”

“What?” he asks weakly, voice a little raspy.

“Service aces. I landed four today. So, how many?”

Atsumu has never backed down from a competition in his life and isn’t about to now. But while he hadn’t forgotten about this one he certainly hadn’t expected Sakusa Kiyoomi to essentially teleport here, curls still looking damp from a shower. He figured he would have had some time for his own shower before being accosted by simultaneously the most brusque and most attractive person he’s ever met.

“Five.”

Sakusa looks down at him, lower face obscured by a fitted white surgical mask. Atsumu can’t read her, other than to guess she might not believe he conveniently scored one more service ace than she had. After a few seconds of silent scrutiny Sakusa exhales heavily, puffing up the mask minutely.

“Go get ready, I’ll leave without you if you’re not done by 6,” she says and walks away again with the last word. The clock on the wall reads 5:40. Atsumu scrambles to the showers.

When he emerges 15 minutes later frantically running a towel over his hair Sakusa is back, waiting by the gym entrance. Atsumu has heard of Sakusa’s infamous discomfort off the court: mask on and hands off, no questions about her personal life, the way she slouches and folds in on herself away from others in public spaces. But one on one so far she’s only stood tall and maybe even a little intimidating, close to Atsumu. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he calls as he jogs over.

Her eyes flick up to the tangled mess on his head and Atsumu dies a little imagining her judgement. Her curls look dry now. 

“There’s a restaurant a few blocks away that’s reasonably priced with healthy portions. Make sure you’re not allergic to anything.” A glance down to the towel still clutched in his hand. “And put that hazard away.”

Atsumu barely catches himself from wincing as he drops to his knees, unzipping his sports bag and pulling out a plastic one to stuff the wet towel into. 

“Lead the way,” he tries for a charming smile as he straightens back up. Sakusa doesn’t dignify him with a verbal response, shifting her own bag and leaning a shoulder against the door to push it open. Her hands never leave her pockets.

* * *

Atsumu hopes to earn some of Sakusa’s esteem by opening the door to the restaurant for her once they arrive but she merely frowns at the gesture before making her way inside without a word, careful not to brush against him either. The walk over had been silent as well, Atsumu too nervous about offending Sakusa to chatter as he normally would in friendly company, though fortunately it was short.

The inside of the restaurant is warm, filled with the tinkle of laughter and utensils. It’s on the smaller side and Atsumu thinks it feels homey, as opposed to the more raucous izakaya frequented by salarymen, and there doesn’t seem to be any smoking allowed. With a jolt he realizes it reminds him of the casual atmosphere of Onigiri Miya, albeit without a counter.

A middle aged woman with dimples bows to Sakusa, leading them to a corner where a screen blocks off a hallway that presumably leads to the kitchen. Sakusa slides into her chair as gracefully as she can manage with her long limbs, tucking her bag under the table and out of sight. Atsumu follows her lead across from her, flashing the waitress a smile as she leaves them a pair of laminated menus. Sakusa procures a pack of wet wipes from her bag, runs one over both sides of her menu, and then another over her hands.

“May I?” Atsumu gestures to the pack on the table but makes no move to reach for it yet.

She gives a curt nod as she looks up to meet his eyes, frown and mask still in place. “You don’t have to.”

He waves a hand and smiles, genuine. “I’ll bring my own next time.”

Sakusa finally reaches up to remove her mask and it gets folded into a pocket. “I like the ochazuke here but I imagine everything is pretty good.”

Atsumu launches into a rambling account of his brother’s restaurant over their meal and doesn’t notice his lips twitch up softly when Sakusa says she’d be interested in trying out Samu’s food when she returns to her team in Osaka after Olympic training.

* * *

Service ace competitions and daily dinners evolve to include post-official practice as well by the end of the week. Sakusa approaches Atsumu during a break, drawing the surprised stares of the rest of the team as she strides onto the court.

“Miya,” he hears her distinct monotone from behind him and he drops the ball he was holding, blushing in embarrassment as he turns to face her. He only turns redder as he takes in the sweat on her forehead and her bare arms. “I want to practice serve receives if you have time later.” His only plans for the evening already included meeting Sakusa for dinner as usual, and he would never turn down the opportunity to see her form in person instead of over streamed video.

“Do you have a fever?” Atsumu might actually combust as Sakusa presses the back of her hand to his forehead and holds it for several seconds before dropping away. “Maybe you’ve been overexerting, we can practice another—”

“Jus’ warm in here! I’ll be ready when practice ends,” he rushes to say before she reschedules. Fuck, the guys will never let him live this down. Motoya in particular will be unbearable about Atsumu’s obvious crush on his cousin and Rin might even be filming this spectacle for blackmail.

Sakusa appraises him with a long look and must deem him to be healthy enough while he holds his breath. “I’ll meet you here, don’t forget to hydrate.” 

Atsumu valiantly holds himself up by clutching the ball cart next to him, waiting until she’s left the gym before sprawling to the ground as the team laughs at him.

* * *

Sakusa becomes Kiyoomi. 

Or variations of Omi, rather, because Atsumu still can’t deal with the intimacy of calling her by her given name and he wraps his lips around the nickname as a taunt instead. He’s discovered that if he focuses on their competition or on riling Kiyoomi up, the less brain power he has to devote to how vulnerable she makes him feel. 

Are they friends? Atsumu has always relied on the built-in camaraderie of teammates and his best friend being his own twin so he’s not used to going out of his way to accommodate someone from outside that sphere in his life. Except Kiyoomi is part of this world too; even if they’re not teammates and took different paths they’re both still here at the world stage. When Atsumu had tried dating his past partners had never truly accepted or understood that volleyball came first and he eventually stopped trying to meet people.

But Kiyoomi lives for volleyball too. There is meticulous thought and care put into her every action on the court, effort become muscle become memory. Atsumu’s body aches from practice and serve after serve for hours on end but his heart leaps every time Kiyoomi completes a beautiful receive or smashes a spike. It also leaps every time she smiles over a meal or makes a joke at his expense, since now they also get breakfast and lunch together in the cafeteria. Kiyoomi fills Atsumu’s waking hours, and then his dreaming ones too. 

* * *

Atsumu hasn’t had a wet dream in years until months into his friendship with Kiyoomi he wakes up covered in come from an extremely vivid dream of eating her out, her long fingers tangled in his hair. As a teenager the dreams had been vague, wild positions the product of hormones plus imagery from popular media, but no one involved other than himself was ever identifiable. Now he remembers exactly whose name he moans as he jerks awake, his imagined taste of her still on his tongue, and the last dregs of pleasure chill into guilt. Atsumu lies awake in bed for another hour until he has to get ready for practice and his shower does nothing to wash away his deep mortification.

He skips breakfast to hide in the gym even though he knows he shouldn’t, knows he’ll already suck at practice due to his interrupted sleep and shouldn’t add hunger on top of it, but he’s more terrified of facing Kiyoomi and having her piece together why he suddenly can’t bear to look at her. She may not be the best at reading people in general but she can read _him_ , and if she asked directly Atsumu wouldn’t be able to lie. It was only a few weeks ago that she had confided in him that she doesn’t experience sexual attraction and the memory only ratchets up his guilt.

He makes it to the first break before Kiyoomi storms in, the promise of murder in her eyes obvious despite the length of the court between them, and Motoya makes a quick exit. Atsumu fucking _knows_ he’d ratted him out but he can’t run himself when Kiyoomi is already stomping up to him.

“You can’t practice on an empty stomach, you idiot!” A high protein Calorie Mate bar gets shoved into his hands. Eyes narrowed and daring him to argue she continues, “I’m going to watch you eat that and you’re _not_ skipping out on lunch, I’ll get Motoya to drag you to the cafeteria if I have to.” Rin and Aran would probably volunteer to help.

“I won’t, Omi,” he promises with a sigh.

True to her word Kiyoomi waits the entire time it takes Atsumu to choke down the chalky bar between gulps of water but she leaves as soon as he’s done without another word. Atsumu doesn’t meet her burning gaze once.

* * *

Kiyoomi doesn’t even wait until he sits down with his tray at their usual table to lay into him at lunch. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Language, Omi!” If looks could kill Osamu would already be an only child. “OK, look, something came up and I can’t talk about it right now.”

Atsumu wasn’t prepared to witness the way Kiyoomi's expression crumples into worry. Oh no, he was too fucking dramatic. “Nothing serious! I jus’ didn’t sleep well and don’t wanna talk about it here, but maybe later?”

Kiyoomi recovers quickly and Atsumu tries not to cower as she studies him seriously. She eventually nods, a decision evidently made, and evenly states, “We’re not doing extra practice today.”

He can’t break in public, _keep it together, Atsumu_. She’s perfectly entitled to not want to spend time with him after his weird avoidance this morning. “‘Course, I’ll just head back to the dorms—”

“No,” she interrupts and he freezes. “I mean, you should go back to your room after practice and pack an overnight bag then meet me out front, if you’ll come with me this weekend?”

His initial fear has subsided but he’s still confused. “Uhh. Sure, Omi, where?”

“Home.”

* * *

Home is an upper middle class Western-style house a twenty minute walk away when they leave together after official practice and stop for dinner on the way. Kiyoomi walks up to the front door with keys in hand, genkan dark as she opens it to allow them both entry. “My parents are visiting my sister’s family this weekend,” she explains as they step in and she flicks on the light. She hands him a pair of slippers and Atsumu slides them on, tucking his sneakers neatly beside hers as she slips her keys and mask back into her bag.

“Why haven’t you been stayin’ here instead of the dorms?” He should be paying more attention to the framed photographs on the wall, maybe look for a gap-toothed Kiyoomi, but it’s more pressing he finds out why on earth she’s been putting up with the dorms when her family home was apparently so close all along.

She leads him into a modern kitchen with fancy-looking appliances and motions for him to take a seat on a barstool at the counter, dropping her bag onto the floor next to him. “I wanted to spend more time with you,” she answers as if it were obvious, setting an electric kettle to boil without even a glance at him. “The convenience of being on-site was also more practical for morning practice.”

Atsumu gapes at her though it goes unnoticed as Kiyoomi pulls a couple cups from a cupboard. He clears his throat, thick with nerves, to ask the new question plaguing him. “But why me?”

Kiyoomi turns to fix him with a stare that has goosebumps prickling out over his skin. “I like you. I wouldn’t spend so much time with you if I didn’t.” And Atsumu lights up from within, relief coursing through him, but Kiyoomi isn’t done.

“I wanted to get to know you, since I’ve never met a setter quite like you, but your smile at the gala dinner was infuriating and I just wanted to wipe it off your face by showing you up.” Atsumu clearly remembers their first meeting and doesn’t mind at all that they started off on the wrong foot if competition is in both their blood. “But you proved to not be anything like I had assumed,” she trails off. “And you put up with me even when I know I can be… difficult to get along with.”

“Hey, now, you know I’ve been called a jerk too.”

He thinks he’ll never grow tired of the way Kiyoomi throws her head back to bark out a husky laugh. “That’s one way to put it,” she manages when she’s caught her breath and Atsumu wants to brush the tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. Kiyoomi must catch some of his longing because those eyes widen and now he feels he has to explain too.

“I had a dream,” he rushes out, the fierce heat of his blush already spreading across his cheeks. “And I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable this morning,” leaving no uncertainty as to what type of dream it was.

Atsumu waits, heart pounding as Kiyoomi turns away, washes and dries her hands, then steps around the counter closer into his personal bubble than he had expected. He watches her movements, slow but unhesitant, and still shivers when she brings her calloused spiker hands to cradle the back of his neck.

“I’m not good at letting people in, and I’ve never really felt it was worth the effort before.” Her fingers gently scratch over Atsumu’s undercut and he sighs, relaxing under her touch. “But you’ve made yourself at home in my life and I want to give us a chance, if you’ll have me.”

An incredulous snort makes its way out of him. “From day one you demanded I be _yours_ and I wouldn’t have it any other way, ‘course I wanna be with you.”

Kiyoomi hums and he still has to look up at her even from his seat on the barstool, her dark eyes boring into him. She brings a hand around to tilt Atsumu’s chin up even further with the pad of a long finger. The friction across the sensitive skin, the weight of this deliberately sensual touch where the others were grounding, fills his brain with crackling electricity. “Do you trust me?”

There’s no way Kiyoomi doesn’t feel his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow but Atsumu pushes down embarrassment to be transparently honest, as if there were ever any doubt. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathes. “Anything you want.”

“What if I want to fuck you?”

The sudden sound of the kettle whistling draws Kiyoomi away before Atsumu can answer, leaving him shocked and bereft of her body heat. But the answer continues to rattle around desperately in his head, even as Kiyoomi busies herself with fixing their tea. She slides him a coaster to place his cup on then brings her own over to sit next to him.

Atsumu waits until they’ve both finished to speak. “You can have me any way you want,” he says, and has never meant anything more.

“But do _you_ want that?” Kiyoomi presses, swiveling on her stool to give him her full attention. “I’ve never been with someone,” she confirms, “but I also spent a lot of time considering what I might be comfortable with after getting close to you, if you’re interested too.” Of course Kiyoomi doesn’t do anything by half measures and it finally dawns on Atsumu that she must have planned at least somewhat in advance even before today, serendipitous convenience of her parents being gone for the weekend notwithstanding. 

“I _am_ interested,” he reiterates and finally sets his empty cup down. “Again, with whatever you’re comfortable with. But it’s because I wanna be _with_ you.” His deeply held insecurity rears its head to tag on, “If you want a relationship past the end of training?”

“Haven’t we already been in one for months?” Kiyoomi quips. Atsumu is about to lose years off his life until her husky laugh returns for an encore and she reaches to link their hands together. 

“Atsumu, we’ll literally only be a city away from each other after training. And even if it were long distance, I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work.” Reveling in the relief of reciprocity and joy over the first time she’s called him by name, Atsumu presses a reverent kiss to the back of one of Kiyoomi’s strong hands. Her smile makes him feel incandescent. 

* * *

Two thorough separate showers later Atsumu waits patiently, if not a bit nervously, reclining on the pillows of Kiyoomi’s bed in fresh boxers with his phone in hand, grateful it’s large enough for two athletes of their size. He can hear the fan whirring away in the bathroom and the familiar rustle of a sports bag after Kiyoomi’s shower stops.

Atsumu’s fingers involuntarily twitch as he types ‘strap on harness’ in the search bar of a favorite sex toy site while he waits, wondering what Kiyoomi has in store for him. He has his own toys he likes and is used to but he’s never seriously thought about the harness part before, about what a hypothetical partner might wear. Then Kiyoomi emerges from the bathroom and he doesn’t have to wonder anymore, phone slipping from his hand to be lost in the sheets.

Atsumu’s last remaining brain cells fizzle out at the sight in front of him. Kiyoomi’s pale legs are so _long_ , dotted all over with moles and soft-looking downy hair on calves that Atsumu wants to run his hands and mouth over for hours, but the main attraction is the aqua strap on sticking out of the O-ring of a pair of black harness briefs. The sensible harness is so Kiyoomi, right down to not being purposefully sexy but still getting a rise out of Atsumu anyway.

He unlocks his jaw to verbalize the one remaining thought in his head. “Why are you wearing a dri-fit?” And it’s not like Atsumu necessarily expected Kiyoomi to come out topless; he has no idea what to expect at all from this conundrum of a person he apparently fell in love with, but then he notices and his brain wipes clear again. Kiyoomi may indeed be wearing a sleeveless dri-fit shirt that matches the harness briefs but she is most definitely not wearing anything underneath it.

“The weight is comfortable,” she defends, and Atsumu gets it. Kiyoomi just has layers, some of them physical. He watches her bring her arms up around her middle, massaging her wrists, and the popping draws him out of his reverie. 

“Is it too much?” Kiyoomi’s voice is quieter and she’s too far away so Atsumu pats the bed by his thigh a few times.

“Not at all, now come here so I can get a better look atcha.”

“Perv,” she jokes, noticeably lighter, and walks over to sit cross legged next to him, the bed dipping with her weight and causing the dildo to bob. “Sorry I took a while.”

“I’ve just been losin’ my mind, no big deal.” It’s worth it to hear Kiyoomi’s snort of laughter and Atsumu can smell her now, the herbal clean of her shampoo and faint spice of her body wash on warm skin. “Wait, did you seriously bring the harness and strap on to practice today in your bag? How long have you been planning this?”

“I got them from my dorm while you were packing after practice,” is the nonchalant reply. Either way Atsumu is treated to the mental image of Kiyoomi with sex toys in her dorm room. “And I told you, I’ve been considering options for a few weeks. Your _incident_ today,” she smirks at him, “just pushed up my plans.” 

He ignores the ribbing and now that she’s close he allows himself to look down and finally inspect the dick that will be fucking him. The aqua seems to suit Kiyoomi’s penchant for bright colors and the dildo curves upwards between them with an understated ripple pattern across the length. Atsumu is relieved it’s not _too_ girthy; he’s taken larger from his own collection before but he doesn’t want to be too sore for practice on Monday.

He looks up to catch Kiyoomi watching him intently. “It’s not too much,” he reassures again, about the strap on, about the entire situation.

Kiyoomi reaches out slowly to tenderly cup his cheek. “May I kiss you?” Atsumu leans into her palm, turning just enough to drag his own lips across her wrist and he smiles at her sharp intake of breath, eyes crinkling.

“I’m all yours.”

Granted permission, she reaches her other hand to sink into the longer hair above his undercut and angles Atsumu’s head to her liking. Then her lips are on his as he’s still processing the tingling in his scalp from her firm grip and nothing else matters.

Maybe Atsumu miscalculated— he should have anticipated that Kiyoomi would only ever devote herself entirely to whatever she’s set her mind to, incapable of backing down without the satisfaction of completion.

The first kiss is short, a shock to Atsumu’s nervous system despite his mental preparation, and she’s immediately diving back in before he can so much as inhale. Atsumu is so dizzy he can’t even tell if Kiyoomi is torturing him with a series of separate kisses or just one long kiss of varying amounts of pressure as she experiments.

His mouth opens first on a desperate pant for breath that gets stolen again when Kiyoomi licks into him. Atsumu can only moan from deep in his chest as their tongues brush for a second, Kiyoomi tightening her grip on his hair even more with a jerk of her fingers. The palm on his cheek languorously moves to sweep against his jaw, thumb pressing onto his thunderous pulse. The pressure in addition to Kiyoomi’s demanding mouth overwhelms him and he feels his breath hitch. 

“Omi,” he mumbles against her mouth. She bites down on his lower lip, startling a throaty whine out of him. “Wait a minute!”

Kiyoomi finally pulls back, eyes wide with worry even as her hands stay on him. Atsumu has to close his own and heave a deep breath before opening them again.

God, he feels embarrassed. “I— I toldja I’ve dated a couple times, and that’s true, but I haven’t had sex before either.”

Kiyoomi looks sideswiped by the admission. “Sorry, I guess I assumed you’d had sex because you’ve dated before.”

“Well yeah, you thought no one could resist all _this_ ,” Atsumu tries to joke but Kiyoomi’s concerned stare tells him she’s not placated. He has to scrub a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Even when I was dating I had the feeling they were more interested in my looks or beddin’ a professional athlete than necessarily liking _me_ ,” he admits, still a little hurt though it’s been years. “So I always broke things off if they got offended that I didn’t jump into bed right away or because I focused more on volleyball than the relationship, which, guilty.”

“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi’s eyes are dark and warm and he can see himself reflected in them. “You know I like _you_ , right?” He does know, but the sincerity and validation still make his mouth wobble as he tries to hold back tears.

“I didn’t wanna disappoint you with my inexperience when you have a clear plan of how you want this to go,” he explains. “And it’s not like I don’t, you know, masturbate with my own toys.” Atsumu can feel his ears heat up and he’s sure his face and chest are blotchy too.

With a gentle tug Kiyoomi eases him into a hug and Atsumu finds himself sniffling into her neck, wrapping his arms around her. “I really wanna have sex, if you’ll still have me,” he whimpers. “I jus’ probably won’t be very good at it.” _Or last very long_ goes unsaid.

Kiyoomi snorts inelegantly and Atsumu is almost offended until he feels her lips against his ear. “Then we practice and get better. And let me handle things this time.” 

He startles a bit as she crawls forward on her knees to fully slide into his lap, her thighs bracketing his own. Atsumu lowers his hands from Kiyoomi’s sides to rest on her hips and steady her. “You didn’t have a problem with my inexperience, or lack of attraction.”

“‘Course not.”

“Then I don’t mind figuring things out together either.” Kiyoomi shuffles even closer to kiss him deep and lingering until Atsumu sighs, followed by a giggle as the forgotten dildo bumps into his solar plexus. There’s a smile against his lips then Atsumu’s grip tightens when Kiyoomi deliberately grinds against him.

Her pace doesn’t even falter on her next grind as she catches his gaze to bluntly state, “I want to make you feel good.”

Atsumu is well on his way to full arousal, growing hard against the dick grinding against his own. “ _Kiyoomi_ ,” he breathes into her mouth, arching into her. He whines when she pulls away, his grabby hands making her laugh as she stands up to return to the bathroom. 

“I’ll be right back, just need to grab some things. And don’t touch yourself.”

Giving up on fighting another full body blush Atsumu just collapses onto his back dramatically and throws an arm over his face. So he really likes Kiyoomi ordering him around, huh.

He’s only alone breathing shakily for less than a minute until Kiyoomi returns, a zippered pouch in one hand and bottle in another, towel slung over a shoulder. The bottle he recognizes as lube gets placed on the nightstand and the towel on the bed. Then she pulls two black gloves from the pouch, sliding them on methodically as if she’s done it hundreds of times before and she very well may have.

“I use them on myself too,” she supplies in her never-ending quest to fry Atsumu’s brain. “They help prevent infection from potential scratches and bacteria.”

“Aww,” he teases, “I thought you didn’t care about my health and well-being.”

The quirk of Kiyoomi’s lips lets him know she’s remembering their whirlwind first meeting too. “I changed my mind.”

Atsumu is pliant as Kiyoomi runs those strong spiker hands down his legs, nitrile dragging slightly against his hair, and gently pulls them apart to kneel between them. At Atsumu’s cocked head she admits, “I want you like this this time.” Hell yeah, the possibility of Kiyoomi railing him from behind in the future is real but for now he also wants to watch her watch him fall apart.

At a pat he obediently lifts his hips to allow Kiyoomi to slide the towel and a pillow under his lower back. Just as he’s feeling self-conscious about how the position puts his erection on blatant display she effortlessly lifts his legs straight up to tug his boxers off and whatever remaining dignity he possessed is effectively lost when his traitorous dick smacks onto his abs from the angle, leaving a wet smear. Kiyoomi snickers.

“Can I put a condom on you?”

Atsumu’s entire body twitches. “Yes! Yeah, less cleanup, smart,” he babbles, distracted from his own embarrassment as she lowers his legs and settles between them again. Kiyoomi shouldn’t look so hot tossing his boxers over her shoulder onto the floor.

She reaches back into the pouch and pulls out a wrapped square this time. “Are you ready?”

He’s more than ready for Kiyoomi’s hands on him, touch muted between the gloves and condom be damned, but he’s curious.

“Omi, when did you learn how to put one on?” he has to ask as Kiyoomi easily rips the wrapper open and plucks out the condom.

“Hmm?” She discards the wrapper on the nightstand and runs her free hand up his thigh in an indulgent caress that makes him choke on a whimper as she leans close. “When I decided I wanted to fuck you I practiced putting them on my toys. Unless you’d rather do it yourself?”

“No, no, you’re probably better at it!” He’d like to think he wouldn’t embarrass himself but Kiyoomi doesn’t need to know right this minute that he generally prefers the warmth of splattered come on his abs and thighs.

The first stroke of her hand makes Atsumu grunt and she chases another spurt of precome from the tip before rolling the condom down his length in steady motions. It’s over all too soon and Kiyoomi carefully removes her soiled gloves, laying them inside out on the nightstand and pulling another pair from the pouch. “To open you up this time, if you’ll let me do that too?” she asks over the rustle of nitrile.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Atsumu answers, unashamed now of his eagerness when Kiyoomi looks like she wants to devour him whole despite her mild tone. Her cheeks are flushed with arousal and he certainly did not miss the way her eyes dilated when she rolled the condom on him and he swelled even more under her touch. She must enjoy his reactions as much as he enjoys her touch and attention.

Taking up the bottle of lube she squeezes out a generous dollop and spreads it over her fingers, other hand pressing gently against his thigh to spread him wider. “Can you come untouched?” Kiyoomi casually asks as her first slick finger strokes over his rim.

“What the fuck, Omi!” Atsumu strangles out, more exclamation than anything.

A second stroke with more pressure, never leaving his sensitive skin. “Just wondering if you can, or if you’d like to try.” Kiyoomi angles her fingertip before Atsumu can respond and slides in two knuckles deep.

“ _Fuck_ , we can try!” He’s already very hard, leaking in the condom, and he thinks Kiyoomi’s fingers alone might do the trick at this rate. 

“Do you need me to go slower?” Atsumu hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes but he flickers them back open as Kiyoomi pauses without removing her finger. The hand that had been holding his thigh sweeps closer so she can run that thumb over his perineum and he clenches down with a gasp before forcing himself to relax. 

“ _Oh_.” Her eyes are wide and Atsumu will never forget the way Kiyoomi looks in this moment, knelt over him and finger inside him. He’s relaxed enough he doesn’t tense when she slowly slides deeper but he does jolt at the crook of her long finger just barely nudging his prostate.

“Ah— there! Omi, again,” he demands with a groan and Kiyoomi delivers with firmer prods, making him tremble with the pleasure. A second slick finger edges in as she continues applying firm pressure to his perineum, the slide smoother than the first. 

She begins rocking those fingers into him, the angle of her wrist bringing her palm flush against his ass. He throws his head back into Kiyoomi’s soft and fresh-smelling sheets as he clutches at them, her name a garbled moan that cracks around the vowels until he’s just panting O with every thrust.

“One more, ‘Tsumu,” she promises and he weakly gives a thumbs up before his arm flops back down, Olympian muscles rendered completely useless by Sakusa Kiyoomi’s flexible wrists and magical fingers. 

He whines when she removes her thumb from his perineum and chokes on a sharp gasp when that hand pushes his thigh wide again and finger three joins the others without a pause in Kiyoomi’s mind-blowing finger fucking. 

Just as Atsumu is getting used to the rhythm, greedily lifting his hips into the motion to try to match her thrusts after a bit of an awkward start, she carefully pulls out with a squelch of lube that makes his ears burn.

Kiyoomi pours another large dollop of lube into her hand to methodically coat the strap on and Atsumu props himself up on his elbows to watch, deliriously wishing it were her own slick about to slide into him.

She rips off one glove, still inside out, but it just gets dropped over the side of the bed in her impatience to grip his thigh and pull it over a slim hip. Atsumu forces his other leg to spread wide, abductors stretching, as Kiyoomi angles the dildo head to press to his rim with her still gloved hand. They hold eye contact as her bare hand presses flat against his trembling abs and Atsumu surrenders with his pride thrown out the window.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, tears threatening to spill. “I need you.”

He lays back down and savors the pressure as she pushes in, steady but relentless until she’s completely sheathed inside him. Kiyoomi pulls off the second glove and caresses his hips and rippling muscles as Atsumu clenches around the waves of the strap on, adapting to the fullness. 

“I get it,” she huffs after a minute and he makes an inquiring noise in the back of his throat. “You look so good like this,” Kiyoomi openly compliments with a tinge of a growl, Atsumu burning and breathless as she pulls back to fuck her hips into his in a deep grind. 

He shakes and lets her build up a rhythm again, trying to focus on not chasing his orgasm too quickly, but then Kiyoomi scoops his pelvis up and raises herself higher on her knees. In this position she’s able to bear down with more weight, directly onto his prostate, and pulls a shout out of Atsumu on the first thrust.

Within a couple minutes he’s teetering so close to release he can feel the tension in his jaw all the way down to his curling toes. “Kiyoomi,” he pants after a few failed tries that are moans, “please kiss me.”

She has to lower them both down again but the way she weasels her way into his waiting arms, heaving chests brushing against each other and trapping his cock into delicious friction between them, is more than worth it. He’s finally able to fully wrap his legs around her hips like he’s wanted to and Kiyoomi buries her hands in his hair to suck sharply into the available skin of Atsumu’s neck, grinding more slowly but as deep as she can manage. 

Seemingly satisfied with the blooming marks on his neck, she pulls his chin down to give him a filthy kiss that has a thread of saliva still connecting them when they separate. Kiyoomi licks her lips. “How do you feel about vibration?”

“Wh— I mean, yeah, I like it.”

“Good, I wanted to try this.” Atsumu is still puzzling over her sudden question when Kiyoomi shifts, reaching down at an angle between them where he can’t see what she’s doing, and he nearly headbutts her when the strap on buzzes to life.

“ _Fuck_ _!_ ”

Kiyoomi kisses him again, muffling the rest of his noises, and the fingers that return to his cheek are wet. Atsumu bucks a little under her, into the vibration, but he still has enough dexterity to latch onto her hand and pull those fingers into his mouth. Kiyoomi’s tang and sweat bloom on his tongue and this might just be how he dies.

He’s not able to make out anything intelligible around her fingers but Kiyoomi must know he’s near his limit, clenching her other hand into his hair and thrusting harder until Atsumu is coming into the condom with a broken moan and falls limp on her bed. He continues to tremble for a minute even after Kiyoomi hastily turns the vibration off.

She makes no move to pull out of him yet, though, slowly lowering herself to rest her full body length against him instead. Atsumu reaches for her hair for the first time to pull her closer and Kiyoomi meets his lips halfway, releasing a pleased sigh into his panting mouth. They kiss until her abs brushing against his oversensitive cock make him shift away and Kiyoomi sits up carefully, the strap on slipping out with a shift backwards. 

Atsumu’s breath is still ragged as he comes down from the best orgasm of his life but he’s determined to make Kiyoomi see stars too, grasping her hips to ease her into the spot he just vacated, and he tugs the harness briefs off in one motion to lay her bare. Except she’s not, exactly, Atsumu processing the fact that the dildo is in fact a strapless strap on. He can only stare as Kiyoomi reaches down between her legs and pulls the internal bulb out with a small wince to lay it on the towel. Her coarse curls are wet and her inner thighs glisten, labia flushed and engorged clit visible.

“Omi, you’re killin’ me! Did— didja come too?”

Kiyoomi shakes her head, hair wild from his fingers where not matted down with sweat, and Atsumu is a bit selfishly relieved he hadn’t missed it. “Not yet. The vibe was nice and fucking you put pressure on the bulb but I usually need more direct clitoral stimulation.” _Oh_. Kiyoomi may have been greedy to take everything he has to offer but Atsumu is also hungry.

“Oh, and Miya?” Atsumu looks up from her pink wetness and can’t help but shiver under the weight of those devouring dark eyes. Kiyoomi’s lips curl in a competitive smirk as she spreads her legs wider, invitation clear as an embossed card with his name on it. “Impress me.”

**Author's Note:**

> the [strapless strap on](https://www.lovehoney.com/sex-toys/strap-ons/double-strap-ons/p/lovehoney-posable-rechargeable-vibrating-strapless-strap-on/a44359g79966.html) in question
> 
> update: probably tmi but I want to make clear that I only write about sex toys I actually own and can vouch for; if anyone over 18 is interested in purchasing any that I mention in this/other works of mine please buy from a reputable site bc your body and health are important!! here are some trustworthy sites (apologies the links are US-centric): [lovehoney](https://www.lovehoney.com/), [shevibe](https://shevibe.com/), [spectrumboutique](https://spectrumboutique.com/), [wetforher](https://www.wetforher.com/), [rodeoh](https://rodeoh.com/) (also, some of these sites are better about inclusive language and gender expression than others, unfortunately)
> 
> I am no expert but please stick to silicone (with water-based lube) and body-safe materials, NEVER insert cheap plastic or unknown/porous materials into your body. and I would be remiss to not mention ethical queer porn sites (which, of course, you must pay for), of which I highly recommend [crashpad](https://crashpadseries.com/) for its wide range of sexuality/gender expression, body type representation, and excellent filter system
> 
> me, a lovesick lesbian: unintentionally projects through atsumu’s pov bc we share 1 brain cell and are both in love with fem kiyoomi :^)
> 
> a dear friend actually met their wife through writing fanfic so I guess if I want to make friends or have even a remote chance at the same I must submit myself to the mortifying ordeal of being known.. you may perceive me on my [side twit](https://twitter.com/kronopriv)


End file.
